Hogwarts will always be there (to welcome you home)

Funny how I always seem to come back to Harry Potter. I think it’s because I found myself as a reader AND as a writer thanks to Harry, or, should I say, thanks to J.K Rowling. As a reader, because there was a lot of time in between books for conjectures and for discussing hidden clues and author intent, and as a writer, because, thanks to the HP fandom and the people I met while I was part of it (it feels like a long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away), I was first introduced to the wonderful notion that hey, maybe I COULD do this. Maybe it was possible.

It’s been a long time. I’ve grown up (mostly). I’ve written (a whole lot). I’ve lost contact with most of the people I discussed the Harry/Ginny dynamic with (though, thankfully, not all of them. The important ones remain). And yet, walking into Diagon Alley, and then, later, into Hogsmeade, in a recent trip to Universal, I felt fifteen again, reading Harry Potter for the first time. I remembered midnight lines, dressing up and meeting up people I’d only talked to online to go wait on more lines and see a movie. I remembered the magic, and the awe, and that final chapter, the culmination of ten years of writing for an author, and of waiting, for its fans. And once again, I thought, let me write something like this. Something this wonderful, and complex, and …life-changing.

Perhaps I never will. Maybe I’m asking too much of the universe. Harry Potter has already given me more than one person should ask for. But more than all those things I’ve mentioned above, it’s given me lessons. Life lessons, yes, but also writing lessons. Plan ahead. Don’t yield to other people’s opinions, also. These are your characters, and no one knows them better than you. Take as much time as the story needs. And, above all those keep writing, even when you are at your lowest, even when things look bad, even when there’s nothing to be gained by it. Keep writing because that’s who you are. It’s what you do.

You write.              

                                                                                                                   

And, if you’re like me, you also plan a return trip to Hogwarts, this time, with those people who’d appreciate it just as much. Lessons are fun, and exploring is also fun, but there’s nothing quite like geeking out with people who understand what every little thing means, and how hard it was to get to that point.

So, Hogwarts next year? The butterbeer is on me. 

Top 10 misconceptions about writing

1.  It’s easy. Oh, how I wish. In truth, it takes research, reading, planning, charts, floor plans, and lots of editing. (Like…when I say lots, I mean …LOTS. Months and months and months)
2. You need to wait for inspiration to strike. Not so. If you wait for inspiration, then you only write like once a week, if that. No, writers approach this as a job. You train your mind to work, just like you’d train your body for a marathon. And, after a while, inspiration is only a plus.
3. Writing and reading are separate. Writers are, first of all, readers. If you don’t read you can’t write. At least not efficiently, not in a way that reaches your readers, not in a way that changes things. For that you need to read.
4. The more words you use, the better the story. More often than not, the opposite is true. Most writers can express an idea in fifty words, but only a really good writer can express the same idea in fifteen, ten, or even five. Brevity is, after all, the soul of wit.
5. Writers are born, not made. I like to think it’s a combination of both. I know some extremely talented people who, recognizing their gifts, have refused to dedicated the time and effort that being a writer requires, and have remained mediocre, and I know less talented people who’ve transformed into brilliant writers by sheer force of will. Like any special talent or ability, you can get better at writing. All you have to do is work on it, and then work on it some more.
6. Truly skilled writers don’t need to edit. LIES, I TELL YOU. ALL LIES. No one gets it right on the first draft. Most of the times, the first draft is merely a way to get all your ideas out. Then comes the real work.
7.  Writers are weird, often drunk introverts with no friends. Thankfully, this is also not true. Like doctors, and lawyers, and architects, writers are all different. Most of the time, they’re not at all timid creatures. The good ones usually have friends (or first readers, however you want to call them) Though the wine thing isn’t really a lie.
8. Writers always enjoy writing. Sometimes writing is agony. There are moments when you want to fling your manuscript through the window and go do some manual labor. At times writing is like a sugar rush, wonderful and bright and then you crash down, and …it’s back to the torment. Good torment, but torment nonetheless.
9.  There is one method to writing, and that’s it. Some people plan every step their character takes. Others like to write in a way that their own characters will surprise them. No two writers are alike, and no two writing processes are alike. That’s the beauty of it.
10. All a writer ever does is write. We’re just like normal people. We cook. We do laundry. We go to the movies, read other books, work out, go to the beach. It’s just that …on the back of our heads, all those things mentioned above are part of a story. But we still do them. We need to. There are no stories if we don’t. 

Five Stages of Writing* (Editing): Acceptance

I’ve heard of the five stages of grief, we all have, but I’ve been thinking lately that there are, quite possibly, five stages of writing as well. (If not writing, then editing, at least. Yes. That works). They might even be the same stages. But, even if they’re not (and I’m not getting into that right now), what I’m sure is that the last stage of pretty much anything in life is this: acceptance.

Sounds profound, and yet, I promise you, it’s not. Most of us write because we have to, because there’s a story that needs to be told, and some days we feel like we’re merely the vessel. It’s the universe that’s dictating the story. And, yet, when we’re done, when inspiration dries out and your brain comes into play, the inevitable problems begin.

Why is my character doing that? What the hell is he thinking? I’ve often been faced with a blank when I try to examine my characters motives. It’s not that I don’t know the answer to these questions, it’s that I don’t realize I know the answers to these questions. The universe did not dictate the story, after all. I wrote it. I should know. Except I haven’t given it any thought. So, in truth, I don’t know.

That’s easy to fix, I tell myself. Just sit down and think about it. Except thinking and writing don’t go together. Not really. Thinking is for editing, and editing is all good, except when it’s not. Except when you overthink, not the plot (If you’re going to overthink ANYTHING, make it the plot), but the characters.

Characters are like children. (Or what I imagine children would be like). You don’t have to understand them. You don’t have to agree with them. And, if you try too hard to mold them according to your desires and expectations, then they’ll just be miserable.

So, to sum it up: You don’t have to understand your characters. You just have to love them, as they are.

Acceptance. What a weird concept, especially under the circumstances. Characters are not real, a non-writer would tell them. You create them. In a way, they’re you. And part of that might be true. But you don’t do it consciously. You pick a name and a hair color, but the rest, the rest just comes together, part magic, part dedication. I don’t know how it happens. I just know it does.

Well, no, that’s not all I know. I also know (now) that, once all of that happens, that’s when the hard work begins. The hard work of understanding your characters, of following them down the path that you chose for them while making sure they stay true to themselves. For, as someone smarter than me said “the best thing one can do when it's raining is let it rain.” 

And get an umbrella.

An open letter to J.K. Rowling:

Hi! It’s been a while. For me, more than for you and I guess I can understand that. If I’d created these characters, I’d have a hard time letting go. Hell, I had a hard time letting go and I was only a mildly obsessed reader.

So, hi, I repeat. I managed to let go, as you probably surmised. It was hard. Your books brought me not only many hours of enjoyment (and countless hours of stupid arguments and assorted drama), but also brilliant friends, and the certainty that I, too, was meant to create some magic. Not the same brand of magic, of course, but my very own kind.

Why am I here, you wonder, after all this time? To be honest, I wasn’t planning on writing this. You can say whatever you want about Ron and Hermione, and, at this point, I’m pretty much immune to it, for a number of reasons, the first and foremost being the very thing that so BOTHERS me when I’m the one writing …

The books are over and done with. There is no going back. You already wrote the ending.

As they’d say, it’s time to let go.

Easier said than done, I know. I imagine you look at the books now and consider literary themes and all that. You second-guess yourself. Maybe I shouldn’t have killed Sirius. Did Teddy really need to be an orphan? Was Dumbledore truly gay?

The truth is none of it matters. Or, at least, it shouldn’t. You did kill Sirius. And I threw my book at the wall and screamed and yes, I cried, but it was the right move. Ron and Hermione were also the right move. Maybe you weren’t thinking that far ahead when you wrote it, maybe you ignored themes and motif and all those fancy words. Maybe, to the Gods of literature, Harry and Hermione made more sense.

But not to us.

And, that’s because of you. You made us believe. You wrote a magnificent story where things don’t always have to end up the way they usually do (and you did it without killing all our faves (SEE, GRR MARTIN, IT CAN BE DONE). You did it, and though it seems like now might be the time for regret, it’s actually the time for merriment.

You changed the rules. You made things different. If you ask me, there are no regrets in that. There’s only celebration.

And, if you really really want to regret something…you might consider turning your attention to the Lupin/Tonks situation. Because, come on …THAT was weird.

Sincerely,

A longtime fan. 

Editing process, an internal Monologue V. 2.0

I’ve been sorta MIA, stuck in the land of editing, and though that is not exactly a fulfilling land, I can’t seem to break out of it. I need to keep at it. I need to finish.

Strange thing is, with each second spent editing I find more and more stuff TO edit.

The internal monologue changes each time. Edit number one seems tough, and, in a way, it is. You re-read and think, boy, I USE this word a lot. I need to expand my vocabulary. You catch some stupid continuity mistakes and you go, oh, I’m glad I caught this one before sending it to everyone else. You cut out some repetitions and think, I’m really cleaning this up nice.

And then, you send it to someone else.

Every writer should be lucky enough to have someone in their life (or, in my case, more than one person), who can read over your stuff and go: “This is crap. You need to rewrite it.”

It won’t be what you want to hear, of course. And it will suck, I’m not saying it won’t. But it’ll make you better. Your critique partners might not always be right. But they’ll make you think. And the thinking, that will make you better.

So, edit number two is going sorta like this:

I could have SWORN I’d gotten rid of all repetitions. How come I’ve used this exact same word 396 times in my manuscript??

::reads more::

And this …how did I write this? IT’S A TOTAL CONTRADICTION. My character can’t be saying THIS if he’s going to be saying the exact OPPOSITE in two chapters. UGH. I seriously did not think this through. 

::continues reading::

This is boring as hell. NOTHING IS HAPPENING. WHY DID I WAIT SO LONG TO MAKE SOMETHING HAPPEN? Oh, God, no. I’m going to have to cut this. And this. And that. And write more. A lot more. Oh, crap. Why did I ever think writing a novel was easy? WHY? WHY?

Sort of. Kind of. Exactly like that.

Editing process, an internal Monologue V 1.0

Well, this should be easy. I wrote a damn good book the first time. Who said first drafts were hard? This was much better than I …

Wait…WAIT.

That’s my opening line? Oh, no. No, no, no. That needs work. But, all right, that’s okay. I caught it in time. Now I just need to come up with …oh, crap. The whole paragraph sucks. But that’s okay. I’m still good. I can fix this. This is why they call it editing. Because you need to change things. I’m sure the rest of the chapter is …eh …well, it’s not that bad. 

But in the second chapter, that’s where this gets good…any second now. Any second …oh …well, yeah. This. I so didn’t think this through from the start. Another inconsistency. At least I can see them now. Maybe I should just put them in red or something, so I can do one complete re-read and then fix all those little things that …

NO.

NO.

::GIGANTIC PLOT HOLE SMACKS ME IN THE FACE::

OMG. OMG. OMG. What do I do now? What do I do now? I don’t know what to do. I’m confused. I mean, didn’t I think this through? I obviously did not think this through. I thought I had. I mean, I did. In my head. I obviously needed to write some of this stuff down. Okay, I’ll go get a notebook. 

There, that’s it. I just need to figure this little plot point out, and we’re golden. Write this down. Yes, yes. THAT. Good. I’m good. I can do this. Let’s just keep reading.

30 pages later…

I wrote the most annoying character ever. How did I expect someone to like her? Or HIM, for that matter. Can he be any more bland? And, what is this plot? It does not make sense? Is there even a plot here? What was I thinking?

I don’t know what to do, I don’t know what to do, I don’t know what to do.

HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO FIX THIS? 

::cries::

Happy birthday, Harry Potter!

Today is Harry Potter’s 33rd birthday (according to us Muggles on the internet). In a way, it seems strange that he’s turning 33, because, to me, it seems like Harry and I grew up together. I was about 12 years old when the first book came out, and though I didn’t read it right away, to me, as Harry grew up, made friends, found love, and ultimately, triumphed against evil, I was doing the exact same thing. Well, minus the triumphing against evil. That’s a tricky one.

I owe a lot to Harry. It seems strange, to feel a debt of gratitude to a fictional character, I know. But I owe a lot to Harry (and, to JK Rowling). Thanks to Harry, I found the Internet. I’m guessing I would have found it anyway, it was already there and it’s one of those things where you’ll end up knee deep in it, no matter what, but, it was Harry who first led me there. Harry who made me wonder about when the next book was coming out. Harry who first made me test my now iron-clad theory about Google being your friend.

All Harry.

It was also Harry who, after what seemed like centuries of waiting (Funny how, right now, it almost seems like we didn’t wait that long. George R.R Martin takes longer to even think of a name for his next book), pushed me towards writing. I’d always wanted to write. I’d tried, in school, scribbles over here, short stories over there, but never before had I actually sat down to plan anything. Never before had I wondered what words like POV, and passive voice, and, gasp, plot, actually meant.

So, yes, it was Harry. Harry who pushed me towards writing. Harry who pushed me towards reading more. Harry who gifted me with wonderful friends I would have never met anywhere else, friends from all over the world, strange people who you’d never think would agree on anything, and yet, six years after the book came out, still come up with excuses to get together.

Friends who, to this day, still write together, still laugh together.

Today is July 31^st. And, so, today, I say: Happy birthday, Harry. Harry birthday, J.K Rowling. And thank you. 

Thank you.